


our infinity

by AikoIsari



Series: Digimon No Verse [55]
Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure Zero Two | Digimon Adventure 02, Digimon Adventure tri.
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-01-13 14:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18470758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AikoIsari/pseuds/AikoIsari
Summary: The gears of destiny can sometimes move in other directions. Sometimes they roll towards a darker, more solemn story.





	1. a sky with millions of scars

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: canon-typical violence

There are no Crests, there are no Digivices here. Not yet. Not anymore.

All there are are the babies of File Island watching a purple sea.

All there is is Agumon recently evolved, crushing the stakes of a Kuwagamon. All there is is tiny Patamon evolving for the sake of their tiny home and for the sake of escaping its rotten earth.

There are no Digivices. There are no Crests. There are no humans.

The first were thrown aside, murdered by the world that had called them. There is no destiny.

Not yet. The past is working for the present.

* * *

This is the story of eight eggs hatching as their only family, the story of the seven vowing such suffering on the twisted darkness for stealing their eighth, their fragile kitten child who caught the best prey and killed the most monsters when she aimed her tail properly. The poison waves had stolen her and it would pay.

This is the story of many Digimon who did not meet humans until it was almost too late, until despair and cynicism and resigned acceptance had swallowed them whole.

Tunomon evolved to stab Ogremon's hand open with his horn and roast him with Agumon's flames. The two have always been the ultimate team, ultimate pair. Piyomon and Patamon learn to fly together while fleeing from a heartbroken Monzaemon whose fur is turning black. He can't help the stitches breaking either, Palmon had ripped them open.

They all feel it, indistinct and careless, that there should be more, but there is not.

* * *

Yukidarumon's domain is pure chill and yet they hide there no matter how many feathers fall off and fur tatters, huddling in a fire because Devimon won't look for them there.

They think of the eighth. They think of her and the scar that had gone from head to paw because she was struck by a shattered curse at the beginning hatching season, they know. They know because Elecmon had told them before she had disappeared and before he died to a cold Leomon's fist.

They knew not to trust the Adults. One was causing this chaos.

Devimon killed the children. There weren't many left.

They were the strongest. Of course he would hunt them.

When his soldiers arrived, the seven cared not about Black Gears or kind Digimon underneath them. They cared about the unhatched eggs and the data dust flying into the clouds and turning black as their hearts were trying to become despite the spots of white still buried deep in their cores.

When the soldiers came, they fought to kill.

Patamon could not evolve, Patamons were obedient and fun-loving and they needed an incredible push the first time and this was not that push, not yet. Still, he controlled the wind, tackled the air and then he screamed his pain to all who could hear and that was enough to force the others to their feet (because without the kitten, the bat-hamster was their little brother, their little savior and they would be damned to the Dark Area before they lost him) and to charge Devimon. Their war cries got lost in the snow.

Yet they lived. Scattered across the poison island turning gray and black and shriveling.

Their first task is to get back together and of course they're too late. They gather to the sound of Patamon's frightened shriek as his whole life spirals upwards and turns them white. And they try to bat Devimon's titan, roaring laughter and wiping them aside like they are nothing.

And Patamon rises, angel of pure white and spreads his wings. He lifts his staff and the sky shatters wide and broken and bright lights begin to fall from the sky.

Devimon screams rage.  _"Humans!"_

The word doesn't register, not as solidly as Angemon's fist to his core, punching in him, through him before he dies writhing in pain at the pure darkness. There are no Holy Devices to power Angemon in this life, only adrenaline and fear and a brief moment above mortal minds. So he dies in pain, choked out by the darkness as the light squeezes out from his body and purifies the tattered sea and earth.

He is nothing but feathers that fall into an egg. Them and seven children.

It is later that they all notice the eighth child is not there. The wonder and horror is too new.

* * *

They don't want to let Patamon go.

The seven Digimon have already lost one, now two. Even if the second will come back, They don't want these human things that they've never known about and who never came through the blood times and the fear and the suffering and yet here they are.

Takeru, the smallest that they know of, is gentle with Patamon, and they all hate it. You can't be gentle in this world, not now, not when the lurking shadows were prowling towards them across the sea. And yet he is. The children are surprised and curious and innocent and it hurts.

(Not that they don't have problems, this is the first time they've been here and not had to endure fighting for their lives but they will. They will and they will suffer and cry but unlike the Digimon, they will not deny their light as much as they did.)

Yamato is still frantic about Takeru and Sora does not believe she feels love or can love. Mimi is secretly the most well-prepared and best grounded, even surprising herself with how much she is and she holds up Jou and Koushiro both, Jou and his self-doubt and Koushiro with his crumpling in and in because he doesn't think he has anything.

These are not war-torn children like the Digimon but they are all still torn up, all but Taichi.

And even that isn't true.

* * *

The day before they leave, Taichi wakes up screaming. He's screaming and screaming so loud and so high and there are tears in his eyes and he's babbling brokenly into the air one name.

Hikari.

Hikari.

His baby sister. His baby girl.

He had raised her since the age of seven when their apartment burned down and their parents had died under the rubble and they weren't around anymore (their grandparents were) and now she wasn't there and he needed to be with her because she was  _in pain_.

Sora and Yamato were there instantly, Sora as the makeshift mom she had been to the cuckoolander girl with the monster dreams that had come true and Yamato as the older brother with Takeru wriggling in his grip because he also knows.

The Digimon look at the cracked egg in the little human boy's lap and they all know.

They all understand.

They'll help, they say. For their little siblings. For their family.

Whether they're Digital Being or not.

Then, as if by magic, the Digivices appear and the egg hatches.


	2. promises that taste like wind

It was all about power, in the end. It was the main thing, the important thing. An old man sings them a tale of heroism and great partnerships. Gomamon giggles halfway through, derisively amused. He goes ignored, but it can't be helped. The Digimon hear his joviality and think of so many dead friends.

_Where were you?_

"There's something for you to find in Server," says the old man before he departs. "You'll need it more than you understand."

That's the most useful thing he says.

* * *

"Let's go."

The words held promise, but the sea was still purple. Evil could be beaten but never eradicated, so long as it existed in every heart. All of the Digimon knew that. Leomon, who had sounded so sincere and open and raw, the Digimon remembered him best as a white-eyed killer.

They weren't sure they wanted to trust him with a wooden raft. But how else could they get there? Their evolutions wouldn't last that long. Not yet. They were too young. And carrying the humans too.

(They wouldn't look at Takeru, wouldn't look at the person who had both doomed and saved their little Patamon.)

Taichi has barely slept. Agumon worries even though he won't admit he's worrying. They all worry about these little humans who don't belong here but are stuck here.

"Let's go," the human boy repeats and Agumon thinks of his own flame-passion-desire when they had to survive. "She's not here and this place is safe right now. Let's go."

"We should try to go back," offers one of the girls, pink hat tight about her ears."Go home."

"Not without Hikari," Taichi insists. His voice is almost cringeworthy, desperate. How does he even now?

The same way Gabumon knows when Piyomon needs a good cry or Gomamon knows what fish will kill them to eat. It is an instinct. It is a fact of life.

It is a fear of death.

"We'll find her," Agumon says and he thinks he sounds brave.

"Poyoyoyo," agrees Poyomon from Takeru's tiny, chubby fingers. "Poyoyo!"

Yes, that was the other reason they would do that.

"You have a friend over there," Takeru says and everyone turns in surprise. "An eighth friend?"

"Poyo!" Poyomon's unabashed trust is so like he was before, and yet so much cleaner. It's like the killing never happened. It's like the shameless purification and death and everything had never been at all. Was that what death meant for them, really? Well that was good, wasn't it?

What about the humans?

Gabumon tests the raft with his weight while Takeru chatters with their little savior.

"She got dragged away in the water," Gomamon supplies unhelpfully without translating for everyone else. "During a storm. Either she's over there or she died a lot." The boy with the blue hair flinches and Takeru's eyes water. Gomamon fakes his guilt. "Sorry, Jou. But that's what happened, you know."

"Well," Sora mutters. "We know  _now_."

Silence. Then Taichi sits expectantly on the raft near the canteens and leaf bowls.

Leomon watches them all with alive eyes this time, and yet it still hurts to look at him. To know he had once tried to cut them up and break them. "You should go," he says. And there's something else in the way he said that. "There is nothing for you now."

Never the less, he's right.

* * *

The raft bobs uneasily as it goes through the water. No one really speaks, they're too busy hanging on. Gomamon occasionally attempts to swim but once they could no longer see File Island, he gives up.

The Digimon talk uneasily to each other during the quiet times. They can't handle the silence, can't handle the lack of action. It's almost claustrophobic, fourteen people trapped on a bundle of wood. There is no space to spar, barely any to sleep, nothing to hit. The Digimon could evolve and let loose but then they'd lose the boat and never come back. No one wants to think of the consequences of that. But they can't sleep. Death tends to come knocking when they do.

Yet they can't help themselves. They all doze, until something roars and swallows them whole.

* * *

Agumon hacks up seawater, coughing for air. He was a fire-breathing dinosaur; they did not do this mess with water. They did nothing of this with water nonsense. No wonder he hadn't wanted to be on this boat. A small hand rubs at his scales and he stiffens up until he hears Taichi's voice by his ear holes.

"Back rubs help nausea," he says, his voice soft. "Well," the human laughs. "it helps my sister anyway."

The boy's voice is oddly choked and it helps Agumon relax. He feels belonging for the first time, and it's a flame in his gut. "Thanks," he says.

Taichi nods and straightens up. He turns back to the whale and waves a thank-you.

That thing had tried to kill them, Agumon thinks. He looks at the others, at tattered limbs, and knows his fellow Digimon are thinking the same thing. And maybe the humans are too. They look too tired for him to be able to tell. And yet Taichi waves, like they are old friends. Maybe they are friends, they helped him and he helped them. And yet…

And yet.

Agumon lifts his claw to wave and it feels supremely uncomfortable. His friends watch him.

"All right," Taichi says as Whamon disappears. "Let's take shelter for the night."

"What?"

What.

Taichi nods at everyone's surprised looks. It's still daylight out, and sure, they're tired. That doesn't mean they shouldn't make ground while they can. The humans look so bewildered at what seems like a perfectly reasonable suggestion though. Perhaps they aren't used to him making those. Sora looks at him with odd concern.

Finally, the redhead (Koushiro, he thinks it would be easier if they had separate species names.) nods. It's a good idea. They know about as much about Server Continent as a grain of sand. Still, it is odd to hear calm logic after excitable idealism.

But it's an idea so they take it.

They end up finding a small, abandoned town, and hide there in the houses. It's more luxury than the Digimon remember having in years. They sleep easier than they thought they would, and it make Gabumon shiver with memories of cold.

The kids are on and off awake. More than once Piyomon wakes to Sora holding one of the necklaces sealed in the whale monster's stomach, looking at the empty pendant.

What use is an item you can't use?

None, that's what.

They might as well be thrown away.

Then, Taichi's starts to shine, mixed with a light in his pocket.

Someone, somewhere, starts to cry. And they hear it. They all hear it.

They hear the promise of power.

Agumon is tempted to ignore it, but he's already here, with the people who give him strength. And he needs to be here anyway. He might as well keep working.

If they were giving them all free stuff, why not take advantage of it?


	3. symptoms of a once loved mind

You are Vamdemon's Chosen.

You know it the second you touch dirt. When your knees hit the ground stinging, you cry. You cry out in surprise until a small cat head finds you and laughs in your face. The laugh is bitter.

"Tears aren't allowed here," she says, and slaps them out of you with her tail, even though you weren't really crying out in the first place.

Vamdemon is gentle with you. He even says his name politely, despite never really asking for yours. The servants are not. They mock or ignore you. You never see the cat head again after the first day, but there's a dog instead who doesn't seem to see you slumped there, eyes full of wonder.

That first day, Vamdemon decides to be gentle that way. He decides not to kill you outright, rather, he shows you his books and teaches you how to read his words and chant the spells and when he does there is a strange energy in your skin for many days after.

So you practice to keep it there. He seems to be in a better mood on those days.

On some days you are more tired than ever. On those days, he talks to you, talks like you are too stupid to see what he's actually doing. Too stupid to understand that he is evil and insane and vile. Talks like you are the only person who wants to listen to his dreams.

It's like he's in love with you or something.

On other days you are full of energy, enough to go outside and watch for the other humans that might be near by. You know you should feel a desire to go home, as the children certainly must, as they are rumored to. You feel none of this. If you have a home, you cannot return to it, and even if you could, why would you?

_(There is an answer to this question, but you cannot find it.)_

One day he bites you. And it does a strange thing. You do not bleed and you don't feel the blood leave you either but surely it does. Surely it goes because the vampire looks satisfied for some reason or another.

"You're a useful boy," he says to you.

And something about that statement doesn't make any sense at all.

* * *

You watch the children when their afterimages touch the ground. You watch the sky. You watch the master, the demon, your demon, pace and pace and mutter, and laugh.

He is scared. He is unhappy.

He will never admit it. You notice because he stops letting you out of his sight out of nowhere, like you will betray him and go with them back home. Go away from your kidnapper because that's the right thing to do when you're a prisoner on a leash, desire to leave. And yet you have none of this. You never say so. You like seeing him squirm a little.

For all the suffering he doles out. Because you like justice. You cannot remember why you like it. The word of it sounds good in your head, even if in reality it doesn't work that way. Sometimes it can, sure, but the longer you are here, the more uncertain you become.

_(There is someone you once instilled the word justice in. Where are they now?)_

Your first instinct is to want to reassure him.  _Want to_ , because your second instinct pulls you back, a weary smugness in the back of your throat, a fear and sorrow in your stomach. You want to reassure him, to change his path.

But neither of you do so. To care is a limited faculty. To care is a dangerous idea. Of course, you are a social being, so to avoid that is essentially impossible. But Vamdemon will never say so, and thus, neither will you. You have a feeling your partner (even now the word sends such a joyous trill up your throat) will not take kindly to it if he does.

The blue eyes in the dark watch you with disdain and envy.

* * *

The plans move and move. What these plans are, you do not know.

Vamdemon is resting for days and then awake for weeks at a time. You sleep long on some days and short on others and regardless, he drinks from you when you're not sleeping. Or perhaps, he does while you're sleeping and you simply can't tell. It's hard to keep your eyes open some of the time.

"You're fading, you know."

The puppy speaks as she paces at the entrance of the castle. It's the first words he has heard from her and he recognizes the mocking, tired drawls of the cat head who had dragged him here.

"He wants to use you as soon as possible." The pup scoffs. "Use you up, like he's going to use  _them_  up."

You blink in confusion, but the pup only shrugs and looks down the warping hallway, towards the room you are never interested in going to, never interested because he does not want you to be.

For the first time, like your ears have popped at a high altitude, you hear someone screaming.

"He'll have better use for her - them- than you."

The pup's voice is not smug as she stops at a bowl of gray liquid. She drinks her poison, and goes on with her day, like everyone else here.

You realize now that the poison has been force-fed to you.

It's too late to be angry, to feel hurt, isn't it?

* * *

One day, you follow the sounds.

You've lost your irrelevant perception of time by now. It has not passed for you and it will continue to not pass for you. It cannot.

This revelation has come slowly for you and the reasoning for that is stuck like chewing gum to a desk. You stop thinking, again, and let instinct go on.

You follow the sounds. On this day, the screams turn to whimpers. They turn to desperate sobs and broken baby cries. Just like the sleeping noises of the puppy on the stone floor. How have you not noticed any of these things?

_(He is doing this all for you. All of these horrible things. They are all for you and how can that be wrong?)_

You can't answer yourself, but you can push open a door and look upon the figure strapped down. Small, nothing but wisps in a flesh body that is trying to die. Brown hair, eyes that might have been the same color before the child came here, but were now glittering rubies in the light of the many hovering candles.

She stares at you. Her expression is that of roadkill. She watches, her mouth closed. Then her brows knit.

"A person." She says. "Why are you here? Did they capture you too?"

"A long time ago," you say. Even though your brain and heart thump to tell you that that simply isn't true, that you somehow know better. You were dragged here, captured. It just wasn't relevant anymore. "They're not afraid of me now. They're afraid of you."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

You don't know many things, but you cannot tell that to this little girl. Not when she can't possibly know any better than you. You're not a child, after all, are you?

_"You're a good boy."_

Your world splits in two.

The rubies glow with a mind of their own. "I'm Hikari," she says, and her little ghost-voice is somehow shrill and painful and cold. "Who are you?"

You search your brain and it aches with love and sorrow and the thought of a child younger than this little girl. Of a pale friend who you miss very much out of nowhere, a wife and a father who don't understand your eccentricities but accept them warily, out of fear of losing you.

"Hiroki," you say gently. "Hida Hiroki."

The world as you know it shatters, and you remember what it once was.

Then, the air is rent with terrible howls, and they are coming from your lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, so I'm reposting this as a collection of oneshots for the sake of keeping track. So these will be all old for the first bit. I hope you'll enjoy it a second time, especially as I update! Thanks so much!


End file.
